Nocturne
by misscam
Summary: Ever do we love in the dark, in the night. Will it forever be so, ere the end of our days?” There is no easy path for the love between a Dwarf and an Elf, and especially not for Legolas and Gimli… (Slash. You’ve been warned.) WIP.
1. Prologue

Nocturne

By Camilla Sandman

Disclaimer: Legolas and Gimli and all who reside in Middle-earth are the creation of J.R.R Tolkien, and I claim no ownership. This is merely written for my own enjoyment (not Tolkien's, I'm quite sure) and nothing more.

Summary: "Ever do we love in the dark, in the night. Will it forever be so, ere the end of our days?" There is no easy path for the love between a Dwarf and an Elf, and especially not for Legolas and Gimli… (Slash. You've been warned.)

Author's Notes:

Nocturne – a piece evoking night, a musical 'night piece' 

Thanks to Saphie for help with the summary. 

Prologue

*****

Young he was, yet not, Legolas Thranduilion of Mirkwood. Many moons had waned and waxed over the trees of his home in his lifetime, but he had not seen the Ages of the world come and go, each with defeat, each with victory. He was young, yet he was not. There was much he did not know. 

He had not known, he could not have known - that something so little could be so fatally alluring. 

Just a kiss. 

"Legolas?" 

Gimli's voice was low and almost uncertain, like a dying rumble on the mountains. 

"I should not have done it," the Dwarf went on. "I should not, but your eyes… I…"

His voice faltered, or perhaps it just drowned in the wind. It shrieked through the trees now, like a force of fury unleashed. It was a storm come from the West, whipping through Middle-earth with angered passion. Perhaps it was the last will of Sauron, passing with the wind as the Dark Lord had, howling as it went. 

The trees shivered in the storm, great claws of branches seeming to try to cling onto anything and everything. Raindrops shimmered in the air like a pale veil before they pounded the grass and trees. Clouds were shielding the moon and stars from sight, and the twilight had almost lost its battle against the emerging darkness of the night. 

Such a dark night. 

"Legolas? Will you not speak?"

The rain fell all around them and carried with it a promise of autumn to come. Almost like ice it felt on his face, and Legolas closed his eyes for a moment to savour the feel. Autumn would come and autumn would fade into winter once more, as it had always been. 

Yet every pass of season was different. Little changes, big changes. Nothing stayed the same. Nothing would last. But the Elves desired the lasting. He desired the lasting. 

Mortals did not last. 

"Why?" he asked quietly. "Did you not desire Lady Galadriel? Am I to be what you settled for because you cannot have what your heart truly wants?"

"No!" Gimli shot back. He looked almost angry. "Do you think so ill of me that you think I would wish to use you as a consoling embrace because I could not have her? Lady Galadriel is fairest of all living things and brighter than the morning star. But can you touch a star? Love a star? I revel in her light, but she is too distant for me to ever desire her warmth."

"Warmth? Do not look in me for warmth, Gimli. I cannot give it to you."

"You cannot," the Dwarf repeated slowly. He lowered his head. "Forgive me, my friend. I sought something that my heart warned me was denied. But I delved too greedily nevertheless, as ever was my kindred's curse."

Legolas barely listened. The rain seemed to thunder in his ears now, echoing his furious heartbeats. 

A kiss. Unasked for, unlooked for, unexpected. Yet it had been familiar, like the tales of distant deeds of ages long past that he had never seen, but always felt in his blood like a faint whisper. A longing for the days that had passed, for what had once been. A longing for the passion that Elves had once knew, before the world was dimmed by Morgoth, cursed be his name. 

And for a moment – a brief, fleeting moment – the touch of lips had made the whisper a scream and the passion a fever though his veins. 

Mortals did not last. Passion did not last. He desired the lasting.

Did he not?

Tinúviel had desired something other, Arwen had desired something other. What was greater than life everlasting? 

Gimli looked up at him at last, rain streaking his cheeks and lips, glimmering like specs of light in the dark night. He was so breathtakingly beautiful Legolas wondered why he not seen it before. Was this what Galadriel had sensed within Gimli's mind? This courage, this loyalty, this warmth, this unchecked passion for life? 

"Why?" Legolas asked again, sinking down on his knees and facing the Dwarf. "You kissed me like no brother or friend ever would. Why?"

"Your eyes shone," Gimli replied slowly. "And my heart was filled with joy even in this dark night in Fangorn forest. I felt as if you shone with starlight and moonlight, only living light. You were not distant as the moon, but even more beautiful. I needed only to reach out and touch you and the beauty would be mine."

"Is that what you desire?"

The Dwarf flinched slightly, but did not lower his eyes. "Yes. I desire you, Legolas of the Elves, to hold and to caress. And now I have shamed my kin and yours by speaking of this, but a Dwarf's heart is ever foolish. Now you know. Do you despise me?"

"If I did," Legolas replied, feeling his heart go still, "I would despise myself also."

Gimli said nothing at first, but a flame seemed to ignite within his eyes, and his hand haltingly sought Legolas's. 

"You said you could not give me warmth," the Dwarf finally said hesitantly. 

"I fear I will give you nothing but pain," Legolas answered honestly, meeting his friend's outstretched hand with his own. "My kin will not accept you. My father will be angered. I will forever long for the sea and the Blessed Realm. I am a poor choice, Gimli."

"Nevertheless you are my choice. Am I yours?"

Legolas hesitated, feeling his heart scream in protest and whisper in delight at the same time. Tinúviel must have stood like this when Beren came upon her; the Elf Maiden called by the mortal and torn between fleeing and answering the call. 

A mortal's embrace was doom, but joyous, pained doom. 

"Beren came

And doom fell on Tinúviel

That in his arms lay glistening," Legolas whispered softly to himself and lifted his head to meet Gimli's burning eyes.

Doom would fall on Legolas Thranduilion. 


	2. Chapter One

Many thanks to Armeniel for beta-reading. 

*****

Chapter One

Starlight and moonlight the clouds hid from view, shrouding Middle-earth in darkness and in rain. It was a dark night, but darkness held no power anymore, for it did not live. Sauron had fallen. Darkness would forever fall before the onslaught of morning. 

But this night, Legolas did not wish for morning. He did not wish for the dawn, nor for the first pale lining of grey on the horizon. If morning came, this moment would end and all the consequences of his choice would be laid bare before him. 

He had sought a mortal's embrace. 

"Your skin burns under my touch," the Dwarf whispered in awe, stroking a finger along Legolas's jaw. 

"Your touch," Legolas muttered, closing his eyes. The Dwarf continued the slow caress of a finger across naked skin, drifting down the neck, up the chin and along the lips, over the closed eyelids and the nose, across the cheek again and along the tips of the ear. 

"No Dwarf could ever chisel something this beautiful from any gem," Gimli said earnestly, his voice rumbling like a distant falling of stones. Or perhaps it was more like a distant lightning bolt in the sky, beautiful and dangerous, ever a light in the dark. 

"Most Dwarves would look upon the Elves and see no beauty," Legolas replied quietly. "Is that not so?"

"Merely because many of my kin have forgotten to see beyond the ill will that lingers between our two kindreds," Gimli said, letting his finger come to rest on Elven lips. "Ever have we been different, and mist has come between your kin and mine. The mist has cleared. I see now..."

"I see," Legolas echoed, and opened his eyes. Rain fell at him, but it did not matter. His hand was still clasped around Gimli's, but the Elf lifted the other to gently rest against the Dwarf's chest. Heartbeats echoed against his palm, sounding almost as fast and furious as his own, "I feel."

"I feel," Gimli repeated, lifting his hand from Elven lips to tangle his hand in Legolas's hair and slowly lean in. As if to reply, the clouds broke silently apart above and for a moment moonlight fell like rain on their faces. And it seemed like Gimli, son of Glóin, gleamed like white fire in the dark night and Legolas wondered if the touch of a Dwarf would not burn him to a crisp. 

"I touch," the Dwarf said haltingly, pausing on the verge of a kiss. "Legolas…"

"I touch," Legolas whispered back, his whisper no more than a breath against Gimli's lips before fire descended upon him once more. 

It was almost like being kissed by a flame; for it was a pleasure so hot it was almost pain. Unbearable it was, yet not enough. He could taste the rain on Gimli's lips mingled with a slight taste of earth and something else entirely unknown. 

Gimli. Clear and distinct and fresh it felt, almost like the first wind of spring which promised that the trees would soon bloom again. A promise. Always a promise. 

As they broke apart, Legolas drew a ragged breath. His head seemed to pound in sync with his heartbeat, and his skin tingled faintly. His knees were protesting fiercely against his continued kneeling, but he did not care. 

Gimli leaned his forehead against Legolas's, looking slightly lost for breath as well.

"You are living light," the Dwarf said with awe at last, tracing a finger along the Elf's lips. "Had my kindred known of this pleasure from an Elf's kiss, they would surely be travelling to Mirkwood in droves."

Legolas could not help it, he laughed softly. "And had my kindred known of the beauty of the Dwarves, they would surely be building great caves in the hopes of luring Dwarves down from the mountains."

Gimli frowned and his eyes seemed to dim. "Do not mock me, Legolas. I know well I hold no beauty to you, but our friendship compels you to…"

"No," Legolas interrupted. "You will not argue with me on this. You are beautiful, for you are like the mountain raging against the sky, weathered by every pass of season, but never faltering. Your courage is in your face, your warmth is in your eyes, your passion is on your lips. How could I not look upon you and find you beautiful?" 

He lifted a hand to tilt Gimli's face upwards, weaving his fingers into the beard. "Elves choose only once, and we do not choose lightly. Do not doubt me."

"I am not used to wooing Elves," the Dwarf grumbled, but he did not look unsatisfied.

"And I suppose you think me all-knowing about the art of Dwarf seduction?" Legolas replied, trying to remain as serious as he could. 

Gimli gave him a hard look. "Clearly not, as you have yet to actually… Hmpf!"

Enough talking, Legolas decided, and silenced Gimli with a crushing kiss that sent the Dwarf tumbling backwards. Legolas fell with him, unwilling to break the kiss or let go of his slow exploration of the beard. 

A hard rock and wet ground greeted them, although the rain had stopped. The clouds seemed to have passed on, and the wind was but a quiet groan. The trees were only dark shapes and shadows in the pale moonlight, but Legolas could hear their leaves slowly caressing the air as the wind passed through. 

The trees themselves were silent, perhaps sleeping through and weathering the storm. Or perhaps they were listening to distant memories, lost in what had been when the world was greater. 

Even the forests would fade.

"What is it?" Gimli asked in a low voice, as if he had sensed Legolas's sudden hesitation. 

"If you take me into your embrace, I will have no other. For an Elf, this would be for all time."

"Good. Then I would not have to kill any rival," Gimli replied, sounding satisfied, continuing to press light kisses against Legolas's neck.

He did not understand, Legolas thought dimly and closed his eyes. But how could a Dwarf understand what time passing truly meant?

Hot kisses against his eyelids seemed to shroud his dark thoughts in mists of light, and Legolas found it hard to think about anything at all. Gimli had managed to move on top and had straddled him, effectively rendering him rather helpless to any assault. Hands seemed to have found their way beneath his tunic and were making delicious circles on his chest. 

"It appears you are at my mercy, Master Elf," Gimli whispered, his very voice a caress. 

Legolas was vaguely aware of clothes being shed, his bow being carelessly discarded on top of a pair of axes and wet moss and rocks against naked skin. It did not matter. All that matter was this warmth, growing ever with every touch, every kiss. It was as if a liquid flame was burning within him, white and bright and almost unbearable in its pleasure. 

The sky had turned a dark blue now, Legolas noted distantly. 

Morning would come. 


	3. Chapter Two

Many thanks to Armeniel for beta-reading. *bows*

********

Chapter Two:

Dawn came with fire, seeming to wrap the skies in flames and burning the darkness from the world. Trees greeted the sun with joy, filtering the sunlight through a blanket of light green and dark green alike. The tiniest glimmer of mist hung in the air, spiralling among the trees like pale smoke. 

A leaf tore free of its broken branch, falling softly against the ground taking all the time in the world. But it did not fall on grass, or on rock, earth or even water. It fell on the dark hair of a resting Dwarf, and Legolas picked it free with a bare hand.

Gimli slept still, his eyes closed and his breath white in the chilly morning. Now and then he would grunt softly, and stir just slightly before going still again. A mortal's sleep, seemingly content, perhaps filled with dreams. 

Legolas wondered what he dreamed of. Mountains? Caves? Gems? How to explain to his kindred he had taken an Elven lover?

The leaf was wet in Legolas's hand, and he twirled it silently. Forests and leaves and Elves. His life. Or rather, what had been his life. Where his life went now, he had no idea. It was as if he had stepped into darkness. Nothing was the same anymore. Or perhaps everything was the same, and the changes were within him. 

He was changed. He had been with a Dwarf, a male, a living flame. Nothing could be the same. 

Another leaf fell from the tree above, dancing in the wind and shining in the sun before it fell to the ground and found its spot among the other leaves already fallen. Broken branches from the storm would soon fall, and new branches would grow out again. Dying leaves. Living forest. 

Fangorn was quiet in the morning, aware but asleep. Never again would the forest awaken. Its time had passed. It would linger, fading slowly, its greatness diminished. It had been the price to drive Sauron away.

The price of Fangorn – and of the Elves. Mirkwood would also fade and his father's kingdom would fall not into ruin, but into memory and legends and mist. The price. The bitter, bitter price, but nevertheless paid. For the downfall of Sauron. A good thing, and all good things came with a price.

What would be the price for Gimli's love, Legolas wondered. His father's sorrow? His kindred's scorn? To be forever torn between two worlds – the immortal life he was born to and the mortal life of Gimli? To see love die? Or perhaps the price would be all of this and yet somehow worth it all.

To be with Gimli… It had been a pleasure beyond words, at least any words known to Elves. Words could only describe a faint echo of what it had been, like a humming left after a song. A remembrance of it, without the force or the passion.  

Legolas closed his eyes, feeling the heat of the sun on his face, warmer than it had seemed the day before. He could feel the forest around him, breathing and creaking only slightly in the gentle wind. There was little evidence of the storm that had haunted the night, yet the storm had undoubtedly been there, ravishing as it swept through. 

"You look as if you are lost in deep thought," Gimli said, and Legolas turned to see his friend looking at him with a faint smile.

"I wondered how many bruises you would awake to," Legolas answered lightly.

"Hah! More than I can count, my friend. Fangorn Forest is not a kind bed."

"Or perhaps Dwarves have too delicate skin."

"Perhaps," Gimli acknowledged, a smile still lingering on his lips. "But to this Dwarf's hands, it is your skin that feel delicate, like silk and pearls combined. Or perhaps I only dreamt that."

"Perhaps," Legolas replied, lifting a hand to clasp with Gimli's. The Dwarf's skin was strangely hot to the touch, warmer than the sun and nearer still.

"I did not dream you," Gimli said quietly, and let his other hand caress Legolas's cheek tenderly. 

"You did not dream me," Legolas confirmed. "I am here. Did I not say you were my choice?"

"That was in the dark of night. I feared morning would shed new light on me, and you would walk into the forest and leave me with only memories."

"I could not walk away from you any more than I could cease to breathe by my own will," Legolas said honestly. "But the forests do call me, Gimli. I must return to my home, at least for a little while. Will you come with me to my father's halls, to the great caves of Greenwood the Great?"

"My father was subjected to the dungeons of King Thranduil," Gimli replied, but there was no anger in his voice. "Will my welcome be kinder?"

"You are my friend and one of the Nine Walkers. My father will greet you with respect."

Gimli seemed to hesitate for a moment, regarding Legolas with dark eyes, swirling with passion and fire and fear, all at once. 

"I will go with you, if you will follow me to the caves and halls of my kin and face their displeasure as I will face your kin's."

"I will," Legolas promised, but a shadow seemed to pass over as he spoke. Dwarves and Elves. Nothing but ill fate had been felt between their two kindred for ages, and this had to be overcome, else he and Gimli would also suffer an ill fate. No love would withstand so much resentment, so many shadows falling over it.

"Promise me you will remember the night," he said suddenly, pressing a hard kiss against Gimli's lips. "Promise me. For I fear what the light of day will do to our choice."

"I promise," Gimli said solemnly, and returned the kiss with far more tenderness. His lips felt as warm as they had in the moonlight, but more familiar and less hesitant. Not the urgent firestorm of last night, but the gentle warmth of smouldering embers. But always fire. Always fire. 

"Come then," Legolas whispered as they broke apart, resting his forehead against Gimli's for a fleeting, heart-warming moment, "let us walk."

He almost wished he could have stayed forever in the silence of Fangorn and the touch of Gimli the Dwarf. But nothing was forever. Not Fangorn, not the Elves, not the night.

As they walked into the morning, Legolas let go at last of the leaf he had clutched. It twirled and twirled in the wind, almost humming in the flaring sunlight of Fangorn Forest. 

And then, as soundlessly as it had fallen, it vanished into the morning mist.


	4. Chapter Three

Many thanks to Armeniel for beta-reading  
  
*******  
  
Chapter Three  
  
Autumn was in the wind lashing through Eryn Lasgalen, the air with it came cold and misty of the mountain. Another season to come, another season to come. Change. Change in Eryn Lasgalen that had once been Mirkwood. A new name with the end of the Shadow for the great forest. And King Thranduil of Eryn Lasgalen felt as it was as if the new name had made it more beautiful still, the colours clearer, the air crisper, the trees taller. What had been burned was slowly growing back, black ashes replaced by green moss.  
  
He stood high on a hill with the forest laid out before him, feeling the sun on his face and the wind clawing at his hair. Winter's cold would not come for a while yet, but the warm embrace of summer had passed. Change now reigned.  
  
And Thranduil knew his time in Middle-earth was coming to an end. He could feel it in the wind, in the grass beneath his feet, in the sky high above. It felt almost as if he was haunting his own kingdom now, not quite here, not quite gone. The West was calling now.  
  
But Legolas might still linger, Legolas who would soon return to him.  
  
He lifted his eyes to the south, and to the distant mountains glinting to the southeast, a faint mist clinging to their tops. It had been a good home, even when darkness and shadow had lain upon it. And it had undoubtedly been his, his kingdom that had stood firm against the Shadow of Sauron, his army who had fought ever on, his son who had been one of the Nine, his, his, his...  
  
The joy of what he had managed still sung on his blood, but weariness had crept upon him. Taur-nu-Fuin was no more. Eryn Lasgalen was now, but he would not linger long to behold it. He would go West soon and see again Nimorn. Nimorn with her skin whiter than snow, but eyes darker than the nightsky...  
  
The wind hummed and turned southwest, growing in strength, forcing the trees to yield and bow. And distantly, Thranduil could see the borders of his land, trees gleaming and waiting. And further yet, a small party approaching the forest. His heart knew who it was as the trees did. Legolas. Legolas had come.  
  
But as he stood high in the wind, rejoicing over the fall of the dark shadow of Mordor, King Thranduil could not see the shadow of light that had fallen on his son.  
  
*****  
  
"Kiss an Elf for a curse!" Gimli muttered darkly under his breath, but he could tell from the curving corners of his friend's lips that Legolas had heard.  
  
"You did agree to come," Legolas pointed out, keeping his eyes on the gleaming forest ahead. His Elven eyes seemed to gleam back, Gimli noted with a sudden start, making the Elf more beautiful still.  
  
"I was a fool."  
  
"Gimli, son of Glóin, a fool? I would as soon think the mountains soft."  
  
Gimli gave Legolas a suspicious look, but could detect no mockery, only merriment and a hint of mischief.  
  
"And what would an Elf know of the mountains?"  
  
"What would a Dwarf know of the forests?"  
  
"How to best avoid them," Gimli replied and Legolas threw his head back and laughed. The echo of his laugh seemed to resonate in the air long after like the clear tone of a hammer on silver, deep and rich and alluring to any Dwarf who could hear it.  
  
"It feels changed," Legolas said after a moment of silence. "Brighter and fairer, yet I feel loss. Why should I feel loss when my home has been freed of a shadow?"  
  
He shook his head slightly, a look of puzzlement crossing his face. Gimli said nothing. The question was raised not to him, he knew. It was to the wind and the sun, to the veiled stars and the darkness beyond. The same question Dwarves had cried to the sky when they had won battles in Khaza- dûm yet lost Khaza-dûm itself.  
  
All victory was crowned with grief.  
  
He clutched his axe and thought of Boromir, of Théoden, of Thorin, of Galadriel the Fair and the light that would be lost to this world when she left. He thought of Erebor, his home, and wondered if he would face loss there as well. Legolas would not desire to live there and Gimli would not desire to live too far from the Elf.  
  
He lifted his glance to Mirkwood again. Would he live there for Legolas? In a kingdom that had imprisoned his father, amongst Elves that would look at him with scorn and anger?  
  
The forest loomed ahead, tall trees as a wall of green against the blue horizon. And beyond that, the gleaming top of Erebor would reach for the sky like a beacon of hope. Home. His home beyond Legolas's home beyond Galadriel's home. He could almost see it already, even without the keen eyesight of an Elf.  
  
Tall and strong and solid, glory reclaimed once more. The sun would shine on its snow-capped heights as it now shone on him, warm on his face still. The window of winter would soon enough drain away the warmth, but for now it still felt like flames against his skin. But even the warmth of the sun could not compare to the embrace of his Elven lover.  
  
Hurriedly, Gimli looked down, abashed that warmth had crept to his cheeks at the very thought. The day would not hide his heart as the night would and Mirkwood was gleaming darkly ahead. The Elven kingdom of Thranduil. A poor place for a Dwarf to love an Elf. A very poor place for a Dwarf to love the son of Thranduil.  
  
He closed his eyes for a moment, assaulted by memories of moonlight on pale skin, touches like flames against his lips, passion singing in his blood and the wind singing with it. The day could not take that away. Thranduil could not take that away. It was his, like a gem forever joined with his heart, fairer and stronger than mithril.  
  
Smiling, he looked up at Legolas, who smiled back, joy flickering in his eyes like sunlight dancing on water. His Elf. His gem, his Legolas, his, his, his...  
  
The words sung to him even as the forest was no longer ahead, but among them and the Dwarf and the Elf slipped quietly into Greenwood the Great and Thranduil's realm. 


	5. Chapter Four

Many thanks to Armeniel for beta-reading, as usual.  
  
Chapter Four  
  
Day had come and gone, twilight had come and gone and at last the land slept with the gentle hum of the wind as its lullaby.  
  
But Gimli, son of Glóin, did not sleep.  
  
The night arched above him, an endless roof of darkness and starlight. The trees seemed to reach out, pillars of green, walls of leaves. It helped to think of it so, a construct rather than untamed life all around. Dwarves liked to shape. How did one shape a forest?  
  
How did one shape an Elf?  
  
"I thought you would enjoy my father's dwelling," Legolas's soft voice whispered, and Gimli turned to see his friend stand a few feet away.  
  
"It could use a Dwarf's touch."  
  
"How can I protest that," Legolas replied, approaching with his eyes shining, "when I know with what skill a Dwarf do touch?"  
  
"My skill is with stone, not with trees."  
  
"You have more skill than you know."  
  
Gimli resisted the urge to continue the light banter. "Your father does not like me."  
  
"He welcomed you."  
  
"He welcomed one of the Nine, a Dwarf passing through to Erebor, a brief visitor in his realm. He would not welcome a thief."  
  
"You did not steal," Legolas said quietly. "What is given freely cannot be stolen. My father will understand."  
  
Gimli wanted to protest that, but found he had no breath to. The Elf had come to kneel before him, lips curved in a smile and hands already reaching out to touch.  
  
He was not dressed in the garb of a warrior now. This was the prince of Mirkwood, Thranduil's son, the Elf; yet it was also Legolas, and Gimli found to his shame that he still desired. The Elf was beautiful, distant and near, the Legolas he knew, yet somehow still a stranger.  
  
Aulë help him. He loved an Elf with an Elf's heart and an Elf's home.  
  
"You look as if I have wounded you," Legolas muttered.  
  
"You are so Elven," Gimli replied, closing his eyes as a kiss burned against his palm.  
  
"You did not mind kissing an Elf before."  
  
"You did not feel so Elven then. You were just Legolas."  
  
"I am still Legolas."  
  
"Are you?" Gimli whispered and opened his eyes to the light of the stars.  
  
"Yes," Legolas murmured against his skin. "As you are Gimli, I am Legolas."  
  
The Elf's breath was hot, brushing against his skin as gentle as a summer wind. The touch of lips against his neck was cooler, but it lasted for only a heartbeat.  
  
"You should come to the halls with me," Legolas said after a moment, pushing himself back up on tohis feet. "My father is holding a great feast in the honour of our coming."  
  
"I will join you in a moment."  
  
The Elf merely nodded and slipped away as quietly as he had come, vanishing among the trees and the shadows. The starlight seemed to dim the moment he was gone.  
  
Gimli shook his head. He had to be turning into an Elf. Gazing this much at the stars was not normal for a Dwarf.  
  
But he had done many things that were not normal for a Dwarf of late. He had taken an Elven lover – a male Elven lover– and declared his heart in a forest, no less. Being in Eryn Lasgalen and about to join the feast in the underground dwelling of the Elvenking seemed almost normal in comparison.  
  
The Elvenking had greeted him courteously, he had to admit. But in those sharp eyes Gimli had seen the questions and had known the answers would not please King Thranduil.  
  
Why was Gimli, son of Glóin, walking side by side with Legolas, son of Thranduil?  
  
The shadows shuddered in the wind, moving as if alive. The forest felt alive, even to his Dwarven senses, and he wondered if it resented his coming as surely as the Elves would. But the forest did not feel resentful or unwelcoming. He could almost understand why Legolas felt this to be home.  
  
Ack. He was turning into an Elf. Soon he'd probably prefer trees to mountains and grow pointed ears.  
  
"You are not unwelcome here."  
  
The voice was an echo of Legolas's, and Gimli felt his throat go dry. Turning, he bowed.  
  
"I know that, King Thranduil. I merely wished to get some air."  
  
The King nodded, eyes keen and penetrating. Tall he stood, clad in moonlight and silken cloth as green as the trees around. He resembled Legolas so that Gimli suddenly realised he could never wish the Elvenking any ill. This was Legolas's father, who had raised and loved and shaped him to be the Elf Gimli now loved. How could he feel anything but gratitude towards Thranduil, who had wrought the brightest gem in all of Middle- earth?  
  
"My son said so, but he did suggest forest air was not what you usually found alluring."  
  
Against his will, Gimli found himself smiling. "Aye, he would not be incorrect."  
  
The King smiled as well. "Your family has perhaps had reason to prefer any other air to the air of my halls, but a new Age beckons. A Dwarf welcome in the halls of Eryn Lasgalen is perhaps a fitting herald. My land is free of the Shadow and as one of the Nine, you are owed the gratitude of my kingdom as much as Legolas is."  
  
"You honour me," Gimli replied and meant it, strange as though it was.  
  
"Not unduly. My son speaks highly of you," Thranduil said quietly, the briefest hint of wonder in his voice. He would wonder and think and then finally he would ask. And Legolas, Gimli was certain, would answer.  
  
Why was Gimli, son of Glóin, walking side by side with Legolas, son of Thranduil? Why did the Dwarf look at the Elf so and why did the Elf return the gaze?  
  
Love. A Dwarf and an Elf and the unthinkable.  
  
Gimli said nothing, merely bowed again. It would be for Legolas to speak. A moment longer the Elvenking regarded him, then returned the bow and slipped away to leave Gimli once more alone in the night with his troubled thoughts.  
  
He liked King Thranduil. He wanted Thranduil to like him. His own father would probably tear out his beard if he found out. If he had any beard left from Gimli's other revelations. If Gimli dared tell him.  
  
If Legolas dared tell Thranduil.  
  
"Ever do we love in the dark, in the night. Will it forever be so, ere the end of our days?" he whispered, feeling despair clutch at his heart.  
  
The night did not answer, it merely went on as quietly as always as Gimli walked into the halls of King Thranduil to be greeted by merry Elves. He did glance east as he went and so did not see the pale blue on the horizon heralding the end of night.  
  
Dawn awaited. 


	6. Chapter Five

Many thanks to Armeniel for beta-reading, as usual.

Chapter Five

Home.

At last, he was home, Legolas Thranduilion.

Mirkwood – now Eryn Lasgalen – stretched out before him, a green tapestry of life. The sun had barely risen and still felt cool, yet the leaves seemed to lift themselves up in a greeting of welcome. A greeting of the new day, shadowless and fair in Eryn Lasgalen.

The new name was a stranger on his lips, but unwelcome. Dol Guldur had fallen and his home was free of its darkness. Mould, grass and trees would soon make it as if no stronghold of Sauron had ever stood inside the forest, as if no shadow had lingered over Thranduil's realm.

But the Elves could not rebuild as easily as the forest. Legolas could feel it in his heart as surely as he could feel the echoes of the gulls' cries. The Elves of Middle-earth had reached their twilight. The sea called and there would be no ignoring it this time. Eryn Lasgalen was his home, but it would never be his kingdom. King Thranduil would be the last ruler of the Woodland Realm. There would be no King Legolas.

And the Elves of Eryn Lasgalen would never have to deal with a King beloved of a Dwarf.

The leaves rattled softly as the wind picked up; a cold breath from the north. Legolas closed his eyes as it brushed him and passed on, its touch cool against his hot cheeks.

Gimli. His lover, a bond as everlasting as Legolas would be. Even though Gimli would die. Elves chose only once and Gimli had been his. Even now, Legolas could feel the whispers of doom in his head. Gimli's doom, the mortal's doom. To die and go where Legolas could not follow. And his doom, the immortal's doom. To linger forever with only memories and sorrow for what had been, never to know it again.

He was not even sure which doom was to be feared the most. And somewhere in his heart, he almost wished he could choose between the two. Almost. At least with the choice already made, the burden of it was easier - if not the pain.

And now he had to pain his father too.

He stared into the West, wishing a wind would come from the Blessed Realm and soothe all pains and make anew what had to be shattered. The Lord of the Woodland Realm bore no love for the Dwarves, so how could he understand the choice of his son? What words could describe a love so unheard of and make him understand?

Legolas had searched long, but he had yet to find them. All words sounded so feeble in his mind compared to the intensity of his feelings. A thousand times he had tried the speech in his mind, a thousand times he had given up.

"Legolas."

"My Lord," Legolas replied formally, but did not turn around. He could feel his father's gaze upon him, and for a moment his will faltered. If he did not tell, the pain would not be there.

Except a greater pain would be Gimli's. And Gimli's pain would be his pain and their love would be one of the night, never to sing in the morning sun.

"I love him."

The words were rushed, but to his surprise Legolas noted that his voice was strong and calm. He closed his eyes as he spoke, feeling the warmth of the dawning sun on his back, a faint reminder of the warmth he felt in Gimli's embrace.

"Gimli, Glóin's son, holds my heart and I hold his. I have bound myself to him. This is my choice."

Finally, he turned. His father stood as still as if cut in stone, his face pale and eyes closed. Pain seemed etched into his features and a shadow lay between them as dark as the night.

"Why have you brought this pain to Eryn Lasgalen, my son?" Thranduil said quietly, but the trees seemed to shake from his words nevertheless.

"Because I love him. As the gulls seek the sea, I sought him. His fire and passion warms me. I did not know I how cold I was before I met him."

"You cannot love him, you cannot..." His father halted and he finally opened his eyes. "Legolas, this cannot be. You will break Eryn Lasgalen with the storm of your words. I cannot permit it. He will die, Legolas. Eryn Lasgalen will endure to be yours. You must... You must not love him."

"Are these your words as my Lord or my father?"

"Both."

"Then I shall heed the words of my Lord and leave. The words of my father I will forgive as rash words of someone holding me dear," Legolas replied, feeling his heart as an icicle in his chest. Numbed pain seemed to take over his body and he faltered.

How did mortals endure knowing they would lose those they loved? How was this pain possible to bear when he felt as if his heart would break with just one second more of it?

His father's arms came to greet him, pulling him into a close embrace. He felt his tears being wiped gently away as they had been when he had been a young child and his father's comfort could ease all pains and chase away all shadows. It was no longer so, but still Legolas did not pull away.

They stood so for a small eternity, as the morning spread out around them and coloured Eryn Lasgalen in the warm yellow of the sun. Neither spoke; they merely stood, the father holding the son while day came and the wind from the north became a gentle wind of the west.


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

A storm rose in Eryn Lasgalen, but it was not of wind or of rain. It was not of the weather at all and Gimli did not hear it come until it was already upon him.

"You cannot take my son from me."

The words were as cold as whipping snow and as strong as wind upon an uneasy sea.

Legolas had told him after all, Gimli realised, and felt the briefest moment of happiness untainted. Legolas had told. Legolas had acknowledged. The love between them was now undeniable.

"King Thranduil," he said quietly and turned. The Elvenking stood tall, and seemed more kingly than ever in his wrath. But his dark eyes were haunted by grief and Gimli felt only sympathy, not the anger he would have expected to rise within himself when confronted so.

"How can I take him from you, my Lord? I cannot make him any less an Elf or any less Legolas."

"But you would wish to."

"No. If he were not who he was, I would not love him."

The King shook his head. "Legolas is young. He does not know what this will cost him. Let him go. Your love cannot be."

"What troubles you the most, King Thranduil? That I am male or that I am a Dwarf?"

"That you are mortal," Thranduil replied and let his eyes fall, shimmering like water and roaring like the storm to meet Gimli's gaze. The Dwarf nearly staggered under the pain those eyes spoke of.

"Do you think I would deny my son happiness out of pure malice?" Thranduil went on, but some of the intensity seemed to have left him. "I love him. But your love will end and he will carry the loss forever. Even Valinor cannot heal all wounds. I would give my son my life, my kingdom, my soul. But I cannot give a mortal immortality."

"And I cannot give an immortal mortality," Gimli replied quietly. "And so we are doomed to be parted, Legolas and I, and we love all the more for that reason. I will pass into the night and he will linger in the morning with his kindred. You will still be there to love him as a father should. He will remain your son long after he has ceased to be my lover."

The King seemed to stagger and closed his eyes, his face pale in the yellow hue of morning sun. He looked so much like Legolas it was painful to behold.

"Father."

Legolas's voice was calm as the Elf stepped into the sun, but his face seemed drawn and his eyes shimmered with tears.

"I am leaving with Gimli to visit his kin in Erebor. Perhaps one day you will forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive, my son." The two Elves locked gaze, and Gimli had to look away, struck by the love between them.

"Gimli..." the King turned to him again, and there was anger in his eyes, but also something almost like understanding. "I cannot rejoice for the choice my son has made, but perhaps one day I shall understand it."

"Perhaps one day I shall understand it myself," Gimli replied and bowed low. The King merely nodded and slipped away, the trees embracing him as he lost himself among them.

Legolas looked after him with eyes as blue as a mountain pool, beautiful even in pain.

"Do you now regret your choice, Legolas Thranduilion?" Gimli asked formally, but he felt something inside him tremble.

"No... But this pain... I did not know there could be so much pain. The wind bringing the damn whispers to me of the future and it makes my heart feel cold."

"What does it whisper?"

"I must see you die." Legolas spoke bitterly, a hint of anger passing over his face. "I love you, yet you will pass like the green of spring and all that will remain of my heart will be cold."

"You will take that wound," the Dwarf acknowledged. "But think not only you will suffer. Every day I know that I will cause you pain, that my death will make your life seem darker. The guilt snaps at my heart with every breath you take, every bright look I see in your eyes. I would have you live your life filled with joy and those terrible Elven songs you enjoy so much, yet by loving you I must cause you grief."

Legolas did not answer for a moment, staring at the horizon with a distant look. Suddenly, he fixed his keen glance on Gimli. "Are we arguing over who will suffer the most?"

Gimli felt a smile touch his lips, almost against his will. "We seem to be."

"A fine way to have the first argument. We have not even told your father yet."

Gimli shuddered. "Do not remind me. He is likely to bring a war upon Mirkwood the moment he hears."

"I am sure my father will oblige him happily," said Legolas lightly, but something dark tainted the light tone. "I wish... No, I do not wish. Even knowing the price I have walked this path, Gimli. We will be pain to each other, but I could not stay away from your embrace even if Morgoth blocked my path."

"Fool of an Elf."

"Fool of a Dwarf."

They regarded each other, the Dwarf and the Elf, and Gimli felt the now familiar urge to reach out and touch this living starlight that was his lover. His. Even the Elvenking had not changed that and he vowed quietly not to shame Legolas. His father would be angry, but Gimli would not let that overshadow his love. He would be worthy of Legolas one day.

"You already are," the Elf said quietly.

"How did you...?"

"Your face speaks your worries. You cannot hide your feelings from me now, Gimli of Erebor, beloved of my heart."

Gimli looked into his eyes and saw, despite all the pain there, that the love shone undiminished and strong, a star within starlight. Perhaps... Perhaps there was hope for them after all.

And he allowed himself to forget all worries and pains as he kissed the Elf in the bright morning light of Eryn Lasgalen.

They would come again soon enough.


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Many thanks to Armeniel for beta-reading, as always.

* * *

Erebor rose definitely against the sky, glinting in the sunlight like a tower of rock, grafted by nature rather than Dwarves. Beautiful it seemed even to Legolas's Elven eyes, and he wondered if something of Gimli had passed into him to think so. Or perhaps it was his own upbringing in the halls of Mirkwood, listening to his father's songs echoing among the stone.

For a moment, he wondered if it might be a home, halls of stone where an Elf and a Dwarf might live in peace and share wine over flickering fires. But the fantasy would not take hold, for he knew what Gimli brought to Erebor would not just be accepted. In his heart, Legolas knew Gimli would have to face the same choice he had - live in silence or find a new home.

A new home...

He had not thought he would leave Eryn Lasgalen until the sea would roar in his blood and draw him from under the trees. He had not thought of a lot of things, least of all to be facing the anger of Dwarves for taking one of their kin to love.

He threw a glance at Gimli, who was walking in silence, his face cut in stone. Legolas wondered what he was thinking. Was he realising the loss before him? Was he begrudging the choice made? Was he worried they would both come to regret this, forced to live cut off from their kind? The lines of his face did not say, but they were troubled.

"How do you feel about caves, Legolas"

The question came so abruptly the Elf found himself staring for a few moments before managing a reply. "I have lived in caves and under trees my entire life, Gimli. You have seen my father's halls. Why do you ask"

"My heart has been speaking to me of the Glittering Caves" Gimli replied, sounding almost dreamlike. "I shall not linger long in Erebor. But there are those among my kin who are young and desire change. Such a wonder would make a fine home for many a Dwarf."

Legolas looked at him and felt his heart skip a beat. He was not sure if it was pain, for it was such a strange mix of emotions he did not know where one ended and one began. Elves looked to the past. Dwarves looked to the future. Already, Gimli was planning their new home for them, not pondering on the choice or lamenting the past.

"It would make a wonderful home indeed to Gimli, honoured Dwarf of Middle-earth" Legolas replied lightly after a moment.

"Hmpf" the Dwarf said, but he did not sound too displeased.

A colony of Dwarves... The idea gave Legolas a strange jolt. Perhaps... Perhaps some of the young Elves of Eryn Lasgalen also desired change. His father would not mind for all his grief, Legolas knew in his heart. A new home. And thus they would both have their own kin and not be faced with isolation. One less thing their love would cost them.

He found himself travelling the paths of Middle-earth in his mind, seeing them anew without the threat of shadow. And as if it was meant to be, he found himself lingering in Ithilien fair. It would be within distance of Gimli and King Elessar would surely not mind Elves present. Nor would Lord Faramir or Lady Éowyn, Legolas felt with certainty.

It would make a fair home.

"You look as if you have bested me in Orc slaying" Gimli remarked and shot him a sideway glance.

"I was learning how to be a Dwarf" Legolas replied truthfully.

The response made Gimli's eyebrows shoot up, but a moment later he merely smiled. "Have you been teaching yourself to grow a beard"

Legolas could not help but laugh, suddenly feeling strangely merry and free. "That would be a wonder indeed! Nay, my friend, I was looking to the sunrise, not the sunset."

"You have much to learn before you are a Dwarf yet. You are still as cryptic as an Elf."

"I must have sought a poor teacher."

A smile finally cracked Gimli's stone face and the Dwarf shook his head fondly. "Aye, you have me there. So shall I use my lifetime attempting to make sense of your words or will you kindly tell me in plain Dwarven terms what you are talking about"

"Ithilien."

Gimli's look of resigned exasperation made Legolas laugh again, the wind carrying his mirth towards the snow-specked tops of Erebor. Glinting in the sun, it seemed to be almost laughing with him.

"I am imagining sunrises and sunsets in Ithilien and you bathed in them. I am imagining... A home. A home, Gimli. For me and the Elves that may feel the shadow linger on Eryn Lasgalen still and desire a new dwelling."

"And the Glittering Caves"

"Will be your home. I love you, Gimli, and my heart is yours, but it is still an Elven heart and will need an Elven home. And you, my dear Dwarf, will need your caves and gems and fellow Dwarves to build all the dreams I can see in your eyes."

Gimli looked at him quietly, eyes glimmering in the sun. "You are my dream."

"But one dream should not deny you all the others."

"I could live a thousand lifetimes on this dream alone."

Legolas closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the twinge of now familiar pain. He would have to live a thousand lifetimes and see his beloved turned to ashes. That was his pain. "You honour me."

"I love you."

Three words that were the dream. It would not last. When the night passes to dawn, all dreams must perish. Legolas could feel it in his blood as surely as the call of the sea. But for now, he would dream of Ithilien's sun kissing the weathered face of a Dwarven beloved.

Perhaps you could live a thousand lifetimes on a dream. Perhaps...

And in the distance, Erebor glinted still as night started to fall and dreams came with the the western wind.


End file.
